Rick Mofina - Into the Dark

Jodi grew quiet.

They both knew the local history and geography. They were getting closer to the site of a former state mental hospital. Even though it had been redeveloped into a university in the late 1990s, some people claimed the area was haunted.

Harding’s attention sharpened on his GPS and he slowed the car.

“Almost there,” he said, passing her his phone. “Here, check the map again.”

Jodi first raised her camera and took a few pictures of the surroundings. She consulted the map and notes on Harding’s cell phone, then the GPS, and she surveyed the area before suddenly pointing.

“There! There’s the spot! There it is, over there!”

She took more photos.

Just as the map directed, they’d come to a small path that paralleled the road near a deer-crossing sign. Harding stopped next to the sign and shut off the engine.

They got out and took stock of the area.

Jodi continued taking pictures.

No other cars. No other hint of life other than the chirp of a bird as the motor ticked down.

Harding turned to her.

“Nobody here but us,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

She nodded.

The map indicated the “gift” was about forty paces from the sign into the grass and brush. Harding took one direction, Jodi took another. They counted off paces while examining the ground, uncertain what they were looking for, anxious about what they might find.

Sweeping the patches of grass aside, Harding scoured the ground as he hit the forty-pace point. He came upon a sun-faded beer can. He used a pen through the drinking hole to lift and inspect it. Nothing at all was unusual. Keeping his head down Harding resumed searching the area, working his way toward Jodi who was doing the same until she shouted.

“Found it!”

Harding’s head snapped to Jodi. Her face was clenched behind her camera as she adjusted her lens and took photos.

Harding rushed to her, then lowered himself.

Propped against two small rocks was a naked female doll about twelve inches tall with flowing dark hair. Her hands were bound with string behind her back. Her mouth was bound with tape. A small noose was fashioned around her neck and was tied to a tag bearing the words “Her name is Amber. She’s mine now. DWK.”

Downey and Camarillo, California

Tanner stared at Polaroid head shots of children displaying gap-toothed smiles as he sat in the dentist’s waiting room ruminating on the murders’ common denominator. Was it social, professional, physical, geographical or movements? All of the women had traveled in the months before their deaths. But travel seemed like a weak connection. Still, there was no way these were random kills.

Anxious at being away this morning Tanner checked his phone once more. Tips were being followed but he had no messages of significance from across the county or the supporting police agencies. No leads from the LAPD or the FBI.

As if impulsively reaching for help, he thumbed through his menu and played one of the short video messages from his wife. His heart warmed upon seeing Becky’s face, and he lowered the volume to a whisper as she greeted him with advice.

“Eventually after I’m gone, you’ll have to start building a new life. You’ll have to find someone new.” Becky brushed her eyes. “I want you to find someone, Joe. Sam will need a new mom for her life ahead, graduation, her wedding, her first baby. I don’t want you to be alone. Okay?”

A door clicked open and Sam rushed to him with a report.

“No cavities, Dad!”

The dental hygienist made notes on a clipboard.

“She’s lucky, Mr. Tanner. In Sam’s age group we usually find a couple.”

“She likes brushing and flossing,” he said.

“Keep up the good work, Sam,” the hygienist said. “I’ll see you again in a few months.”

In the parking lot, Tanner turned Sam to him, bent down and gave her a hug and kiss.

“You know I love you, pal.”

“I know, Dad.”

“Now, we have to get you to school and get me to work.” At that moment Tanner’s phone rang and he answered.

“Joe, it’s Mark Harding. He wrote to me again and directed me to something you should see.”

“What is it?”

“A doll with a woman’s name.”

“One of the five?”

“No, a new name-Amber. Isn’t there a missing person named Amber?”

“Hang on. Are you at your office?”

“No, I’m in Camarillo at the spot where he left the doll.”

“You’re at the freaking scene?” Mindful of Sam, Tanner turned and dropped his voice. “What’s going on? Who else knows?”

“No one else but the ANPA knows.”

“Damn it! Don’t move! Don’t touch anything! Give me your location.”

“We’re not going anywhere. Stand by, I’m sending you my copy of the killer’s directions to where we are.”

Once Tanner got Harding’s map, he forwarded it to task force members and alerted his lieutenant. Then he called Camarillo P.D. and the Ventura County Sheriff’s Office and requested them to protect the scene and “keep things off the air.” He didn’t want a news carnival waiting for him. Then he alerted Brad Knox, advising him to get the FBI to dispatch its Evidence Response Team up to Camarillo to process the material. Then he called Harvey Zurn.

“Meet me at my house, Harv. It’ll be faster for us to drop Sam off at school then go straight to the scene.”

The whole time Tanner was on the phone, Sam amused herself by hopping along the sidewalk cracks. She was happy to be with her dad.

* * *

A knot of Ventura County sheriff’s vehicles and ribbons of yellow plastic tape marked the site along University Drive. As Tanner and Zurn arrived, Tanner spotted Harding leaning against his car, talking to a deputy. Tanner’s jaw muscles throbbed when he interrupted them to pull Harding aside.

“What the hell are you doing, Mark? You should’ve called me before rushing out to play detective.”

“I called you. That’s why you’re here, instead of reading about it. Don’t try to accuse me of being irresponsible or uncooperative. He didn’t write to you, he wrote to me. I’m doing my job.”

“Your job? Take a look around.”

Puzzled, Harding scanned the area as more police vehicles arrived.

“This is a dirt road. You drove all over it. You and your friend with the camera tramped all over it and in the process you destroyed our chance for tire and shoe impressions. You contaminated the scene. Is that your job?”

“I could’ve not called you and you’d be reading about it in the L.A. Times or watching it on CNN.”

“And I would’ve charged you with interfering with an investigation.”

Harding looked off, saying nothing. He knew Tanner was under a lot of pressure, he heard it in his tone. Tanner looked to the scene and let a few moments pass.

“Are we going to slam heads all day out here?” Harding asked. “Or are we going to carry on professionally with our work? The latter, I hope.”

Tanner saw the FBI’s ERT people arriving, ran a hand over his face, then held up a finger to Harding.

“Don’t you move, Mark, understood?”

Tanner left him to consult with Knox as the FBI set up. For the next couple of hours the scene specialists conducted a meticulous analysis of the site and surroundings. They made sketches, took measurements, photographs and searched for impressions. Tanner and Knox studied photos the techs took of the doll and note as deputies canvassed the rural area. A chopper thudded above them taking aerial photographs while Ventura County K-9 units attempted to pick up any trail.

In Los Angeles, the LAPD had sent its crime scene team to the AllNews Press Agency bureau on Wilshire. By that time Harding had made several calls to Magda, who’d alerted Sebastian Strother, who’d called the news agency’s lawyers.